


Voltron s4 alternate ending

by 49percentchanceofbees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/49percentchanceofbees
Summary: What if the generals had delivered Lotor to Zarkon and taken his place as the main villains, while Haggar, newly aware that shewasHonerva, discovered her own attachment to her son at the exact wrong moment?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [read on deviantart](https://argetl.deviantart.com/art/Untitled-Voltron-TLD-s4-alternate-ending-711181202)
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> Credits to my cousin, who has chosen to remain anonymous, for being the other half of the "how else could s4 have ended" conversation that led to this.

“I congratulate you on your victory, as clumsy as it was.” Lotor smiled up at his father. Haggar was impressed -- most individuals brought before Zarkon didn’t manage such composure even without the handicaps of chains and a death warrant. “I would have escaped you had it not been for … faltering loyalties.”

Lotor didn’t look around, but the women behind him shifted uneasily anyway: Zethrid looked at Ezor, Ezor looked at Acxa. Acxa, motionless, looked at nothing, her gaze boring into an empty spot some two feet above Lotor’s head. Haggar wondered which ate at them more: their betrayal or the thought that it might not have come soon enough to save their own hides.

“You can’t have predicted that, but even the best laid plans -- unngh!”

At a twitch of Zarkon’s fingers, one of the faceless guards stepped forward, jamming a shock prod into the former prince’s back. Lotor buckled, pitching forward, managed to catch himself on his knees -- impressive agility, with his hands bound behind him. Haggar watched his generals: Zethrid’s hands twitched, Ezor grimaced in sympathy, and Acxa didn’t _move_ so much as become _more_ still, an almost imperceptible increase in immobility.

“You always talked too much,” Zarkon said, turning his back on Lotor as if his son were no longer even present. That was, in fact, the plan: Haggar saw the inchoate motion of Zarkon’s hand, saw the soldier with the plasma axe, sweating profusely under his helmet -- not an experienced headsman; he’d clearly never been this close to royalty before -- perhaps a final insult, refusing to give the boy even the dignity of a formal execution … 

“Wait,” Haggar said, the word dropping heavily into the silence, already half-spoken before she’d fully realized she was going to say anything. About to walk away, Zarkon paused, his head tilting slightly to focus on her without turning. Haggar noticed the reactions of no one else, except one: Acxa was looking at her. As silence stretched, Haggar realized that it was time, past time for her to say something else, to explain and argue, to provide _counsel_. “Even traitors may yet serve the Empire. Lotor has shown inklings of impressive cunning and ingenuity … and he is your son, my lord. It would be unfortunate to waste such fine stock. Let me see what I can make of him.”

The executioner trembled, glancing back and forth from Haggar to Zarkon; he seemed more afraid than Lotor. Zethrid looked disgusted, Ezor horrified. Acxa just watched Haggar, impassive.

“Very well,” Zarkon said. “Take him.”

The emperor walked away.

*

“Better to have died than for you to get your claws on me, witch,” Lotor sneered, the aristocratic contempt finally starting to wear thin now, on the operating table.

“Probably,” Haggar agreed, and got to work. 


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you think they’ll do to him?” Ezor said, sounding curious, almost intrigued. Acxa had long since concluded that her comrade couldn’t help sounding chipper about everything; her voice was just naturally like that.

“I’m more concerned about what they’ll do to us,” Zethrid muttered.

“Quiet.” Acxa watched the door close behind Lotor and the soldiers escorting him away, led by one of Haggar’s druids. The emperor had already left the room, and now the high priestess herself turned to the prince’s former generals. As with Ezor’s cheery voice, Haggar’s face was permanently set into such lines of contempt that it was impossible to tell what she thought of them. At least, until she spoke.

“I hope you don’t expect to be rewarded for getting cold feet at the last moment,” the old woman growled. “You’ve already seen that loyalty to a traitor means only being cut down when he has no further use for you. Coming to your senses has earned you a reprieve, an opportunity, nothing more. You have a ship. You have your arms. Go. Bring us Voltron or die trying.”

Ezor made a couple brief attempts to have a conversation on the way back to their ship -- one in which there was no place for Zethrid; Haggar had taken Lotor’s ship, to run tests on its unusually composition -- but neither of the others were interested, and she finally gave up after Zethrid actually, wordlessly snarled at her. It wasn’t until they were flying, slightly aimlessly, away from high command, with no idea where they were supposed to find Voltron or how to take it down, that Acxa spoke.

“How did she know he killed Narti?”

*

First they shaved his head. They didn't actually do anything to it, medically, for which this was necessary, so Lotor suspected it was a psychological tactic: a means of humiliation, a blow to his vanity, a tacit statement that he had gone from handsome prince to nothing but meat on a slab. Even if he hadn't recognized the attempted manipulation, Lotor wouldn't have been bothered. It was just hair. It grew back. He had a feeling he'd have far more permanent, and painful, procedures to fret over soon. 

*

“Maybe one of the soldiers told her,” Ezor said. 

“A traitorous foot soldier told High Priestess Haggar, the emperor's right hand woman, how a soon to be dead prince  _ cut down _ an irrelevant general?” Acxa shook her head. 

“Does it matter?” Zethrid said, sounding tired, and therefore grumpier than usual. “I don't know what you're trying to suggest -- that the High Priestess had something to do with Narti’s death -- but does it actually change anything?”

A moment's silence. Then Acxa said, “No. Narti’s still dead, and we have our mission.”

“No point in dwelling on the past,” Ezor agreed. “We should  _ maybe _ think instead about how we're going to bring down Voltron. Because we tried that, before, and it didn't work, and now we're two people short.”

*

He might have overanalyzed it. Why bother to intimidate him when his opinions had, rather abruptly, completely ceased to matter?

It was probably standard for all of Haggar’s prisoners, or subjects. He had never bothered to inquire before.

*

“What would Lotor do?” Acxa said. 

“Let's  _ not _ do what Lotor’d do.” Zethrid snorted. “Look where it got him.”

“You're right. Sorry.”  _ Force of habit _ , Acxa didn't say. She’d gotten so accustomed to trying to anticipate the prince's plans, the better to carry them out …

“So … what  _ wouldn't  _ Lotor do?” Ezor offered. 

*

Just because it was standard didn't mean it lacked that depersonalizing message, intentionally or subconsciously. Perhaps the signal was less for the prisoners and more for those who worked on them.  _ Do as you like. These creatures are nothing.  _

_ Fine stock, _ Haggar had said. Even here, he wasn't  _ nothing  _ \-- or, rather, he was less nothing than all the other poor fleshbags without royal blood running through their veins, without Zarkon’s genes for the witch to tinker with. 

Lotor didn't know if there was a way out of this. It didn't look like it at the moment. But he'd be damned if he'd stop looking. He wasn't done yet. 

_ As long as I'm alive, it's not over.  _

*

“We could always walk up to Voltron’s castle, knock on the door, and tell them we’re tired of being ‘evil conquerors’ and want to pitch in,” Ezor suggested, joking. Probably joking. But … 

Zethrid looked at Acxa. “I don’t like the look on your face right now. Don’t tell me you actually want to make nice with those … ugh.”

“Think about it,” Acxa said quietly. “Lotor’s condemnation was broadcast all across the Empire. So was his capture, I’d think. But -- ” her fingers flew across her console, checking the news coverage that had gone out to both Galra soldiers and civilians within the empire. “Yes: they didn’t mention anything about our involvement, or anything about our fate at all. So as far as the rebels know, we’re disgraced followers of a traitor … ”

“See?” Ezor said, pouting a bit that her idea hadn’t initially been taken seriously. “They’re sappy. They want to think they’re great heroes and liberators. We go to them, crying about how the cruel ole Galra killed Narti and dragged our prince off in chains, how we barely escaped by the skin of our teeth, how we have all this  _ inside knowledge _ that we’d be all too happy to share if it brings down our tormentors … We’ll have them eating out of our palms in a week.”

*

It was probably just for hygiene.


End file.
